


off the rails

by jongdang



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Radio, Community: chenpionships, M/M, Non Idol Verse, big and bumbling kris, krishan friendship, rocker kjd, sechen friendship mentions, teasing dom dae is one of my favorite dae's tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 18:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7769308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jongdang/pseuds/jongdang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which all kris wants to do is calmly announce the next pop hits, but a certain radio host with ripped jeans and a scandalously cut tank top makes that very difficult</p>
            </blockquote>





	off the rails

**Pairing:** chen/kris  
 **Rating:** pg-13  
 **Warnings:** cursing, brief mentions of sex  
 **Word count:** 4,690  
 **Summary:** in which all kris wants to do is calmly announce the next pop hits, but a certain radio host with ripped jeans and a scandalously cut tank top makes that very difficult  
 **Author's note:** originally posted for chenpionships round 3 nearly a year ago ( oh wow orz ) [here](http://chenpionships.livejournal.com/60817.html). also on my [livejournal](http://jongdang.livejournal.com/875.html). 

* * *

It all begins with a laugh.

One laugh—one impression, technically—and Kris Wu is hooked.

It’s not even one of those laughs that makes the Earth’s rotation cease, that decelerates time for long enough a duration anyone listening is allowed the opportunity to let the noise seep into their skin, past their eardrums and straight to their hearts. Instead, it’s rough, lacks control, nearly deranged-sounding.

Laugh might not even be the proper term for what he hears. Cackle seems more appropriate. The voice on the radio howls its own impression of the legendary cackle that opens _Crazy Train_ , and Kris finds it difficult to wrap his mind around how someone can possibly defy all logic and make an Ozzy Osbourne impression sound _cute_.

Somehow, this voice manages it, and Kris is struck with the sudden curiosity of what the owner of the sound looks like.

“They get a new host?”

Luhan’s fingers hover over the tuning knob just long enough to shrug his shoulders, lips slightly pursed and not appearing like he much cared about who was hosting the classic rock station of their radio channel’s rival studio. “Sure sounds like it.”

He rotates the tuner, switching the audio before the voice can return and reveal its name.

* * *

Within a week, Kris learns it.

He waits until Luhan’s not with him a couple days later to tune into the station again, even sitting through the full four minutes or so of some gravelly vocals and guitar riffs just to find out.

The fading chords transition smoothly into the faint background music, and Kris doesn’t even realize how he’s leaning a bit forward expectantly. “Alrighty, that was AC/DC’s _Dirty Deeds_ ,” the DJ pauses to pant out sharply twice, echoing the background vocals of the tune (and Kris has to wonder if that’s _entirely necessary_ ), “ _Done Dirt Cheap_. This is your rockin’ and rollin’ host Chen, and I gotta say that I’m already having the most awesome time here even though it’s only my first week.”

Somehow, it both is and isn’t the type of voice he imagined would accompany the laugh he’d first heard. It’s jovial, chipper; makes the corners of his lips tug upward without the other even needing to have said anything particularly amusing. Of course, Chen could just be putting on an act or be caught in a pleasant mood, but somehow, Kris doubts it.

Is it silly, trying to base personality simply off a snippet of dialogue that hardly lasts more than thirty seconds?

Perhaps, but Kris has been meaning to invite a little more humor into his life.

* * *

It only takes a few more weeks for him to become an official fan.

Tuning in to the show a couple times after work turns into tuning in a few times, and then tuning in daily. He’s struck by Chen’s enthusiasm for the music he’s broadcasting, sounding as though he’s genuinely interested both in the genre and in his listeners as well.

With his own show (the pop station of the studio), Kris doesn’t interact too much with his audience; like any good host, he bids them good morning when he begins and good afternoon when he’s finished with his time slot. He’ll joke around a little when listeners call in to request a song or try to win some prize. On dreary days when he’s feeling especially bored out of his wits, he’ll even ask a random caller how their day’s going, or if they have any plans for the weekend worth sharing, but he rarely discussed anything in regards to his own life—and not because he didn’t have one, mind you, but simply because he never felt the need to divulge its details to the general public.

Chen, on the other hand, regularly littered his sessions with charmingly quirky anecdotes: little impersonal (which, paradoxically, felt rather personal to Kris) stories that helped listeners get a peek at the host’s personality. He gave out his Twitter handle, inviting anyone who wanted to chat him up to do so during his weekly Q&A sessions, ones which Kris would sometimes watch progress, but always only from behind his iPhone’s screen without ever sending in a question of his own. He even willingly gives out his real name in his profile (Kim Jongdae, apparently), simply requesting people call him by his alias in terms of the show.

His admiration is reserved as that from afar, and instead of calling in or making a move to directly contact the host himself, Kris settles for becoming a regular listener instead every weekday after his own show wraps up. He’s even willing to waste a bit more of his gas (which, as everyone knows, doesn’t come cheap in L.A.) in order to stay in the car and wait for the next song to head up to his apartment just to avoid having to miss any more of Chen’s dialogue than he already has to while he’s on shift, their shows’ times overlapping for a couple of hours. He liked to tell himself that he was simply keeping an eye (or ear) on the competition, but he conveniently disregarded the fact that he had never done so with any previous hosts.

Besides, keeping tabs on the competition is normal.

What Kris is doing, however, is not.

* * *

 

It’s not very long before Luhan takes notice to the new hobby.

He has his suspicions when their tea runs after work (every other day, he comes in to do a sports segment for the studio during Kris’ time slot) are suddenly filled with the heavy clamor of electric guitars. The only thing is that it’s never the music that Kris seems to be particularly interested in listening to, but the voice that happily yammers away between each track.

These suspicions only grow when Kris seems to be more in a rush to head out after work and starts finding it difficult to focus on his own hosting—something his boss, Minseok, dryly states he finds incredibly funny (with an expression that screams he finds it anything but) given he rarely does anything more than calmly announce the title and artist of the upcoming tracks.

Whenever he tries to bring this up to Kris, the latter just makes up some bullshit about studio rivalries, or, even less believably, that he’s trying to become more open-minded about music. Luhan isn’t stupid— he knows Kris better than just about anyone else—and he might miss his privilege to control the radio at least a little, but Kris also pays for his chai lattes, so he’s not about to do anything to revoke that.

When Kris sighs for the umpteenth time during their multiplayer game of Diablo 3 a few weekends later, spacing out because this is about the time Chen’s show would’ve started had it been a weekday and leading to his and Luhan’s defeat, Luhan finally caves and utilizes the brutal honesty Kris appreciates so much (they’re not best friends because Luhan puts up with his bullshit, but because he _doesn’t_ ).

“Okay, you really need to pull your head out of your ass,” he admonishes, finally setting down his controller. “Your crush—“

“It’s not a crush,” Kris interjects, predictably.

“—or admiration or whatever the hell _this is_ ,” he gestures to Kris before him in exaggerated circular motions, “is getting to be a bit much. Maybe it was a little cute in the beginning, but now it’s just getting excessive. You gotta live for yourself, not for some faceless voice on a wavelength frequency that doesn’t even know of your existence.”

For once, Kris doesn’t argue. Luhan might just have a point.

He’ll be damned if he admits it, though.

* * *

Kris fails to understand what good a weather app is when it fails to notify him of impending rain until it’s actually upon him.

Yet here he is, unamused and standing on the edge of the sidewalk, arm outstretched for a taxi as the precipitation proceeds to drench him. He’s starting to regret his choice to walk to the steepery to grab his morning green tea, but at least he’s got his height on his side, has given him a leg up over the fellow pedestrians on the street who too were caught off guard—

—but that still doesn’t prevent a speeding car nearby from whizzing past a little too close to the curb, sending a mini tidal wave of accumulated rain mixed with god-knew-what from the streets spraying over him. He doesn’t explode, doesn’t even seem to react, other than the scowl that crosses his features. Of course it would be today of all days to become soaked, today when he has both a meeting before and after his shift and doesn’t have time to change into any dry clothes beforehand. He shouldn’t even be surprised, not really.

A loud snort of barely concealed laughter, however, does surprise him.

Eyes swiveling to right and towards the source of the noise, Kris finally notices a young man with his hand clamped over his mouth, bright eyes wide in alarm at having been caught. In his other hand, he holds an umbrella, shielding himself from the onslaught of rain, though it shakes with the force of his laughter.

“I’m—I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh, really,” the other chortles in an oddly familiar voice, shaking his head. He removes his hand to wave it before him in protest, and Kris can’t help but notice the way his lips seem to curl up naturally on their own, almost like that of a kitten’s. “It’s just—wow, tough luck.”

Kris doesn’t find it so funny, but the stranger’s smile is so startlingly warm that he can’t find himself to snap or speak harshly. Before he can respond, the stranger approaches him, offering out his umbrella. “I know it’s a little late now, but maybe—“

There must be something in the water that’s making the drivers of L.A. particularly shitty today, because another zooms past, this time effectively showering the man at his side instead of him.

The two stare at each other for a few moments in stunned silence, umbrella still extended between them, and this time it’s Kris who breaks into laughter first. The other doesn’t take long to follow pursuit, and Kris’ mind is whirring as it tries to figure out just where he’s heard that same laugh before.

Kris can’t help but take a precautionary step backward when another car begins to approach, but the shorter man at his side flashes a small smile. “Ah, my savior has arrived. Sorry again for laughing— I don’t suppose I could offer you a ride to wherever you’re headed to?”

There’s something about the other that makes him want to accept, which baffles him a little, if he’s being honest. He supposes strangers have shared cabs before, but this seems to be someone the other knows personally, and he’d probably be intruding—

—his phone buzzes in his palm, and it appears as though Luhan has made his decision for him.

Kris shakes his head and thanks the other for the offer, and he’s parted with a flash of white teeth and a bid for him to keep dry. The host finds himself staring after the retreating car, semi wishing he’d thought to ask for the other’s name before he’d missed his chance.

And with his meeting later, he also misses the amusing tale Chen gives about karma biting him in the ass when he laughed at a poor man in the rain that morning.

* * *

Fate isn’t really something Kris has chosen to believe in. He doesn’t scoff at those who do instill their faith in such a concept, he just doesn’t invest anything it himself. He supposes everything that happens just happens because, well… because it does. Not because there was some plan lied out and all the pieces fell together. Most of the time, things happened without reason.

Still, he finds himself a little suspicious when he happens to run into the Umbrella Man just a couple weeks later.

He’s headed for the little bakery in the grocery story to grab a few muffins for his breakfasts, gallon of milk in his hand, when he hears the distinct sound of items tumbling over and a muttered “oops.” Making his way for the sound, he finds someone looking dejectedly up at a single box of cereal on the top shelf, and dozens of other brands on the floor. The person who caused the fumble turns his head briefly to glance at him, and Kris is met with a familiar smile, this one sheepish.

Kris has to blink, because the other’s donned in an iconic Rolling Stones tank top that’s so low-cut he can see up and down the majority of the boy’s sides, as well as the long lightning bolt tattoo down his right one. He also has tight, ripped black jeans that hint at skin beneath, and it’s not as though Kris hasn’t seen people dressed similarly before both style-wise and skin-revealing-wise, but no one else has quite rocked the look as well as this, he doesn’t think. He hopes the other doesn’t notice the way he has to swallow and divert his gaze away.

“Karma for laughing at me,” Kris can’t help but jab, setting down the milk and stooping down to help pick up the mess, eyes pointedly focused on the cereal and definitely not on the other’s bare skin.

“No way,” the shorter dismisses with the shake of his head, moving to assist. “My getting hit with the splash after laughing at you filled my karma quota. This?” He replaces a few boxes of Lucky Charms on the shelf. “This is just bad luck, contrary to this cereal brand.”

It really is odd, just how familiar the other’s humor and voice is to him, but he can’t quite place his finger on where he’s heard it before. “To be fair, the leprechaun never does say whether his charms are meant to be good or bad.”

The other makes a clicking noise with his tongue, nodding as they finish restocking the shelves before his eyes drift up and back to the top shelf. “Right you are. Ah, thank god cereal already starts out in small pieces, huh?”

Kris follows the gaze, and easily plucks the box of cereal. “All that trouble over this ‘lil thing, hmm?”

“Shut up,” the shorter mumbles, though he’s grinning. Kris isn’t quite sure if he’s noticing a faint flush on the other’s cheeks or if he’s imagining it. “I really just needed the Cocoa Krispies.”

He takes the box, and the taller finally remembers to introduce himself. “I’m Kris, by the way.”

“Jongdae.”

If there was ever a time for someone to appear out of thin air and say this was proof fate existed, it would be now, as everything starts to click in place: the familiar laugh, the bubbly voice, the Rolling Stones shirt. Kris doesn’t even wait for the name to finish passing through the other’s lips before he blurts out, “ _Chen??_ As in, Chen of 101.1fm?”

It really must be him, because Chen—Jongdae’s—cheeks color a (terribly cute) shade of rogue as he scratches the back of his head with the hand that isn’t carrying the cereal, smile almost shy. “Yep, that’s me. Do you listen to the show?”

His mind kicks into overdrive as he frantically struggles to figure out how to reveal that he’s a fan but still look casual without going overboard. He’s borderline panicking now, because Jongdae is hot, and he’s already sort of teased the other. “Yeah, I listen sometimes after work. I really enjoy the show.”

Jongdae beams at him, corners of his eyes crinkling, and Kris can’t remember ever feeling this flustered over someone’s smile before. “Ah, I’m glad to hear you like it! What do you do—“ There’s a beep, and he holds his index finger up as he reaches into his pocket to check his phone. Kris doesn’t mean to notice the name _Sehun_ on the screen, and he really doesn’t mean to feel the slight pang of anxiety (Is Sehun his boyfriend?). “Damn, that’s my roommate.” Kris lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d even been holding. “He wants this cereal pretty badly, so it looks like I have to dash. If you’re cool with it, d’you wanna exchange numbers? Maybe we could meet up sometime.”

Kris is just thankful his hands don’t (noticeably) shake as he hands over his phone. Jongdae jokes that he hopes the next time they run into each other, tragedy won’t befall either of them, and Kris can’t stop his eyes from gluing themselves to way the loose fabric of his tank swishes over his skin and contrasts with the tight cloth of his jeans as he heads out.

He buys a box of Lucky Charms instead of the muffins.

* * *

Even with an actual excuse—and a method—to connect with Jongdae, Kris is still clueless how to contact him.

There have been numerous times where he’s picked up and stared at his phone, even started composing a simple “how’s the show going?” (as if he hasn’t been listening even more intently these days) a few times, before shaking his head and tossing it aside.

Luhan has voiced his desire to strangle Kris for not hopping on that (“on texting him, not actually jumping him,” he claims, flashing a faux scandalized look though Kris knows better) as soon as he was given the opportunity, but it still takes Jongdae messaging him first for him to kick his ass in gear.

[ **sms:** ozzy ] hey, so sehun (my roommate) and I were thinking of going to the grand opening of that club on 1st this saturday night if you’d like to join us. you could bring a friend with you if you’d like to too ofc ^^

He stares for a solid few minutes at the iMessage, the royal blue bubble mocking him, as if daring him to suck it up and respond. First, he frantically texts Luhan, messages littered with typos autocorrect failed to fix for him (useless service), and it takes physically calling him to tell him to “calm the fuck down and say yes, for christ’s sakes” for him to pull himself together and string together a simple reply that it sounded like fun and he was down.

Except, come Saturday morning, Jongdae texts him to inform him that Sehun seems to have caught a cold and wouldn’t be able to make it anymore, but he was still interested in going dancing if Kris was still in. Of course Kris is, but the moment he tells Luhan Sehun’s no longer coming, his friend instantly follows pursuit and backs out as well. “I’m doing this for you, asshole,” he scoffs indignantly when Kris glowers at him, grip on his water bottle unsettlingly tight.

He wonders how late is too late to find a new best friend.

When he finds Jongdae already inside the club, waiting for him along one of the walls near the bar in tight leather pants (as if the ripped jeans hadn’t been bad enough) hair slicked up, and charcoal-lined eyes, it’s not as awkward as he worried it’d be. Kris apologizes and explains that Luhan ditched him, but all Jongdae does is quirk those feline lips at him (and it might just be the lighting, but they look particularly pink) and raise an eyebrow. “You think you’re gonna manage to have a good time with just little ‘ole me tonight?”

Maybe it’s that the vibrating bass is already seeping into his bloodstream, or the fact that it’s already so loud he has to lean a bit closer to hear his companion, or even that Jongdae doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest—maybe even looks a little smug—that Luhan wasn’t able to join them, but something makes him feel just a bit more bold. “Do you think you’ll be able to show me a good time?”

Something dark flickers in Jongdae’s gaze, and Kris is floored with the urge to explore it. He’s the one who leans closer this time, bringing his lips near enough to Kris’ ear that he can feel the warm breath brush along the shell when he speaks. “I’ll try my hardest to make you satisfied.”

Jongdae pulls back, smirk playing along his lips because he knows he’s got Kris exactly where he wants him, and gently tugs him towards the mass of bodies writhing on the floor. Dancing’s a little awkward given their height difference, Kris accidentally bumping into Jongdae or even someone near him when he means to move in sync with the former, but the other doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he almost seems amused, and he even dares to press closer, his movements automatically causing Kris to follow his lead.

They’re so close he can see the faint sheen of sweat beading on Jongdae’s neck, the occasional pulse of the strobe lights striking against the other’s sharp cheekbones. When Jongdae’s hand briefly comes to rest on his chest, Kris wonders if he can feel how erratically his heart’s pounding, and he both loathes and is enthralled with the sensation of being able to hear his own pulse in his ears. Unsure, he brings his hands cautiously closer, just brushing along Jongdae’s sides, and he panics when Jongdae pulls back a little to blink at him—

—but then there’s that coy little curl of his lips again, and he takes one of Kris’ hands in his and guides it to the small of his back, bringing them together. His palm nearly covers the entire span of it, and Jongdae is so petite but so powerful and magnetic; Kris is the one who feels small in comparison.

By the time a couple hours have passed, they’ve both had enough of the cramped space, and Jongdae has to shout a little when he asks if Kris if they should scat. Somehow, the two wind up at the nearest convenient store, Jongdae searching for cold medicine for his roommate, and Kris scoffs at his own pettiness when he even thinks about how somehow this still wound up with Sehun involved. It’s worth it, though, when Jongdae flashes a sheepish smile and apologizes, offering to buy them both ice cream cones to make up for it.

When Kris drops off Jongdae at his apartment step afterward, the latter stuns him by peering up at him and flat-out asking “Am I safe to say this was a date?” in a voice as calm as though he was asking the time of day.

Kris all but chokes on his own spit, and Jongdae immediately leans around to give his back a few sturdy pats. “Yikes, didn’t realize the idea of dating me was so horrifying.”

The taller shakes his head, because the last thing he wants is Jongdae thinking that he wouldn’t want to date him, because god, he really, really would if he was able to. “No, that’s—that’s not it. I was just taken off guard. Do you want it to be?”

“Uh-uh,” Jongdae shoots him down with the shake of his head, eyes playful. “Not fair to switch this around on me. I had the balls to ask you in the first place.”

This is a foreign concept for Kris; though he doesn’t have too big a dating past, he’d always been the dominant one, knew just what to say, but this is new for him. He doesn’t want to mess this up. Jongdae seems to be the type who appreciates forwardness, though, so he tries to ignore the blood rushing in his ears and hopes that his voice remains faithful and steady. “Yes.”

And it must have been the answer Jongdae was thinking too, because that smile spreads across his features, and Kris realizes just how enamored he is—how enamored he has been, for far longer than he’s actually known what Jongdae looks like. “Good, because that means I get to do this.”

His hand slips to the back of Kris’ neck, and with a simple tug, Kris’ head dips a little as their lips meet. It’s a bit uncomfortable, Kris half in shock and Jongdae having to stand on the tips of his toes, but Jongdae tastes like artificial vanilla and enthusiasm and life, and Kris is instantly addicted.

When they break off, Jongdae huffs softly, voice teasing. “It’d be easier if you, y’know, actually bent down a little, but I’ve had worse first kisses.”

There’s that smirk again, but this time Kris swoops down to press their lips together with more force, wiping it right off his pretty features. Jongdae willingly parts his lips, allowing Kris’ tongue to brush against his, and it’s Kris who’s smirking when he hears a soft mewl escape the other.

Before he can give any of Jongdae’s neighbors a free show, he pulls back a bit, but not before he steals one last quick kiss. “We should do this again sometime.” Jongdae’s eyebrows waggle, and he moves to correct himself, cheeks flushing a little. “The—the dating thing, I mean. I’d like to get to learn more about you.”

“We should.” The other bobs his head in confirmation before flashing an impish grin. “But we should also do the kissing thing again sometime too.”

Kris can’t even pretend he doesn’t agree.

* * *

Over the next few months, Kris gets to learn many things about Jongdae (which Luhan constantly takes credit for, unwilling to ever let Kris forget that it was his refusal to go clubbing that night that started it all).

He learns that, though he can play electric guitar fairly well, he can’t play Guitar Hero to save his life.

He learns that Jongdae actually prefers early mornings to late evenings, enjoys the breath the city takes before falling into its hectic routine.

He learns that it’s worth getting up earlier in the morning if he gets to sneak into Jongdae’s radio sessions and kiss him in between humorous, lively anecdotes, microphones muted.

He learns that, as much as he enjoys those anecdotes, he likes the sound of Jongdae’s choked voice when he’s trying his best not to let any moans escape more (the first time he doesn’t hear Jongdae tell a story between songs is when he’s on his knees beneath the desk, bobbing in between the host’s legs).

Even more than that, he likes when Jongdae doesn’t restrain his noises, thighs trembling and voice hoarse as he shouts Kris’ name when they’re tangled up in the sheets, the force of Kris’ rocks driving the headboard to slam against the wall.

He learns that not being a lazy ass and sleeping in until two in the afternoon every day is worth it when he gets to wake up to Jongdae’s warm smile and corny jokes.

He learns that the rain’s not so bad when it stays outside and provides a soundtrack for light-hearted afternoons swaying together in the living room (more like Jongdae trying to sway, with Kris more focused on not stepping on the other’s feet) to old jazz, still-steaming cups of tea on the coffee table.

Most importantly, he learns that Jongdae is someone that he wants to continue to keep discovering more and more about, no matter how much he’s already learned.

“You know, the first time I ever heard your voice was when you made an Ozzy Osbourne impression,” Kris reveals one lazy morning, limbs loosely tangled with the smaller’s and lips ghosting faint kisses along the defined collarbone, then upon the high cheekbones. “I was infatuated from the start.”

He can practically feel Jongdae smile. “Yeah?” His fingers thread soothingly through Kris’ hand. “Well, y’know, Kris, I…”

And for a moment, Kris is naïve enough to actually hold his breath, before: “I think I’m going off the rails with you.” There’s a snort, voice shaking with laughter as the other struggles to even go through with his terrible pun. “You’re my crazy train.”

The whack of Kris’ pillow against Jongdae’s face is hardly satisfying enough.


End file.
